


Chicken Noodle and Childhood Memories

by goodguymercy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chicken Noodle Soup, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Late Valentines Day Fic, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky - Freeform, They just love eachother okay, Valentine's Day, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, minor smut, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodguymercy/pseuds/goodguymercy
Summary: Who knew making soup on Valentine's Day would reaveal 70 years of angst and longing? Certainly not Bucky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little day-late Valentine's fic I wrote like a madwoman. Hope you enjoy the hecking angst.

“You know what I just realized?” Steve’s voice breaks the silence that had formed while he prepped chicken broth and Bucky chopped vegetables.

Bucky didn’t look up from his work when he replied, slicing the carrot on the cutting board with an assassin’s precision. He quite liked using knives for cooking, if he wanted to get deep, the reasoning was probably that it reminded him that like the knife, he could be something other than a weapon. Not to mention the steady sound of the knife became almost cathartic, the constant motion busying his usually troubled mind. 

“What?” Bucky asks, finishing up the carrot and starting on a sprig of celery. 

He glances over, taking in the sight of Steve’s muscled profile. He wore a tight fitting gray t-shirt that stretched obscenely over his chest and broad shoulders. His torso tapered down to a thin, defined waist, and a perfect ass covered in dark blue sweatpants. 

He looked good, Bucky passively thought. Then again, Steve always did. He even looked good as a small, skinny man, at least from what Bucky could remember. 

Bucky then observes his face, meeting his longing blue eyes. He had always liked his eyes, and Steve’s masculine nose, the light bump in the ridge perfectly kissable if Bucky ever had the guts to try it now. He also loved Steve’s lips, even though not very plump, he remembered they slotted perfectly together with his own. He kept remembering a lot of things actually, memories clicking into place like a child’s toy train track. 

“This is the first Valentine’s Day we’ve got to spend together in 70 years.” Steve says, a sweet smile playing about his pink lips. 

“Yes. It is, isn’t it? Guess I kind of forgot about holidays, when I was…” His words faded off, and Steve knew exactly what he meant. While Bucky would’ve let it slide into awkward silence, Steve had other ideas.

“I know. And we don’t even have to think about that today. We’re making chicken noodle soup, and it’s us together. It’s perfect.” Steve bumps his shoulder lightly into Bucky’s, giving him a dazzling Captain America smile. 

“Perfect? With me? Wouldn’t you rather be spending it with a girl? I thought you and Sharon were….” 

Bucky searched for words, remembering the feeling of anger and hurt that had surfaced when Steve kissed Sharon. He hadn’t even known where the feelings came from, seemingly without a source until he began remembering. 

“We aren’t together anymore. She got promoted, and like her Aunt, she put everything into her work, so it just didn’t work out.” Steve brows furrowed disappointedly. “We’re still friends, but she wanted a career before a man, and I respect that.” 

Steve threw chicken shreds into the warm pot of soup, his face returning to a half-hearted smile. 

“Oh.” Was all Bucky managed, his feminine lips pinched as he suddenly felt awkward. 

With a few last deft strokes, he finishes the celery and scraped the minced vegetables into the steaming pot of soup. It brought back memories of a small blond huddled under blankets as Bucky fed him soup with a pleased smile on his face.

“I remember this. Making soup for you when you were sick. There was always too little chicken and vegetables in it. And you’d yell at me when I gave you all of them.” Bucky chuckles through his nose, washing his hands in the sink and drying them on his black band t-shirt. He normally would’ve dried them on his pants, but he was only wearing comfortable black skull-patterned boxers.

Steve was still, his hand paused on the chicken he’d finished tearing meat off of. Bucky immediately felt like he’d said something wrong. What if Steve didn’t want him to remember that? Or to recall how nice it felt to be tangled in the sheets with him, pressing kisses along his then-fragile body. Whispering words of love and promise into pale skin as he made Steve’s body tremble beneath his own. They kept flashing back to him constantly, making him question who he was and what they were before H.Y.D.R.A. tore them into different paths. 

“Is that… all you remember? Of us before… before you were taken?” Steve’s throat bobbed, his eyebrows furrowed above longing blue eyes.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat, words forming in his mind. Dangerous words that could change everything between him and the only link to his past. His new, not quite worn-in metal arm twitched, reacting to his emotions. He felt like he was holding back a dam he no longer had the energy to resist. Lies popped into his head, ways to drop the topic and escape the way Steve made him feel. However, if there was anything that Bucky kept from who he was before, it was that he couldn’t lie to Steve.

“I remember other things. Like how much you look like your ma. And taking you to junior prom, an’ you looked so good in your fancy clothes. Everyone laughed and said I was such a good friend. But we weren’t just friends were we? I remember what happened after we left prom. I remember holding you close as you sank down onto me. I took your virginity didn’t I?” Bucky’s gray eyes were pleading, his lips sucked in between his teeth as tears threatened to fall.

Steve was quiet, his face expressing a deep well of emotions pent up for over 70 years. His hand dropped from the chicken, hanging by his side. His other fingers rested on his forehead before brushing back his blond hair. Blue eyes bore into Bucky’s gray, an intensity beyond pain and love between their gazes.

“Yes, you did. You whispered in my ear right before I…” Steve didn’t finish, instead continuing with what Bucky had said. “You called me Stevie for the first time, and told me you loved me.”

He washed his hands in the sink, cleaning them from the chicken. His eyes avoided Bucky, who just wanted something, anything from Steve, who’s last words betrayed the calm on his face.

“You don’t love me anymore. I’m not him, I know that. I just felt like I was lying to you by not saying I remembered.” Bucky mumbles, his fingers playing with the black fabric of his shirt.

Steve stopped again in his tracks, hearing Bucky’s words. He seemed almost angry, his brows furrowed and lips drawn down. He shook his head, and slid his fingers in between Bucky’s metal ones.

“Buck, if all the years caught up to me, and I wasted away until I forgot my own name, I would still love you. God, I don’t think hell itself could stop me from lovin’ you. But I know it’s not fair to expect you to feel the same way.” Steve breathed out, his body so close to Bucky’s. 

“I love you, Stevie. I keep remembering so much, and it hurts that I can’t be him for you. I’m not him.” His lips tremble, gazing up at Steve’s beautiful face. “Why do you still want me? I’m damaged, I’m broken and hollow, and I don’t smile like he used to. I can’t hold you like he used to, all you’ll get is cold metal and a murderer’s hands.” Bucky questions, his fingers retreating from Steve’s. 

“You are him. At least part of him. I see it every time you do smile, and when you hum while cooking or tap your feet when I play music. And you’re not broken, you’re not a murderer. You’re here, with me, after so long. All I want is for you to be happy Bucky, I’d give anything to make you happy.” Steve grips onto Bucky’s wrist, pulling him into a hard hug.

Tears slip from Bucky’s eyes, falling onto Steve’s muscular shoulder. The two men breathe, holding onto each other as if they were the last piece of themselves. Which, in a way, they were.

Bucky doesn’t think, and doesn’t speak before crashing his lips against Steve’s. His hands grip onto the man’s blond tresses, pulling their faces closer as Steve’s fingers hesitantly grip onto his back. He pulls back for a split second to whisper.

“You make me happy. You’re the only thing that does.” 

Then his lips were again slotted with Steve’s. The man’s surprise quickly fades, turning into rough acceptance when he plunges his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. The brunet gasps when Steve slides his hand down to grip onto his thick thigh, pulling it up and around his slim waist as they bump into the marble countertop. The friction between his boxers and Steve’s sweatpants makes him gasp, his body remembering all the ways that Steve had made him feel before they were separated. 

“God, I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you.” Steve sighs, gripping onto Bucky’s dark hair and freeing it from the bun on his head.

His hair falls about his head, tickling Steve’s face when he buries his lips into Bucky’s neck. Bucky releases a gasp, arching into him when he places a firm hand over the column of his throat. The action was far more dominant than Steve normally was, and it surprised but certainly excited Bucky. 

“Are you sure you want this? Us?” Bucky whispers, his red lips parted and gasping. Even though Steve had made his feelings clear, Bucky couldn’t understand such a pure and brave soul wanting him.

Steve stops making a trail of kisses along his throat, and brushes his lips lightly against Bucky’s. His eyes were dark, and they looked at Bucky as if he were the sun and the stars.

“Its not gonna be easy, but if you’ll have me, I won’t ever need anyone else.” 

Steve kisses him then, needy and desperate. His large hands run through Bucky’s messy hair, and the brunet can’t breath when Steve grips onto his ass, pulling him flush against his chest.

In his lustful haze, he barely hears the sound of sizzling and angry bubbling. With droopy, dark eyes, he looks behind Steve’s tall form to the stove.

“The pot’s boiling over.” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips. 

“What?” Steve mumbles, before realizing what Bucky said and quickly peeling off him to turn the stove down.

With a second to breathe, they both calm down, realizing just how close they’d been to having sex in the kitchen of their shared apartment. The smell of the soup was heavenly, covering the scent of lust and musk, which was probably for the best. 

“It’s nice to be making soup with you.” Bucky admits, walking over to hug Steve from behind and peek into the pot over his shoulder.

Chicken, noodles and vegetables floated on the top, rising with bubbles and disappearing beneath the yellow water. It was calming, and Bucky released a breath, laying his head against Steve’s strong shoulder. 

“Better now that I’m not so sick.” Steve chuckles, holding onto Bucky’s fingers.

It was by far the most pleasant moment in recent history for Bucky, who spent so much of his time hating himself. Steve made him feel safe, and wanted. Like a human and not a monster. No matter what, he would stay with Steve. Even if the blond fell out of love with him, he’d follow Steve, to the end of the line. 

“I don’t know, I remember that you got pretty cute and sassy when you were sick.” Bucky chuckles, then breaks into a full laugh when Steve grabs his arms and pulls them tighter around his slim waist.

“You say that, but I remember being a real punk to you.” Steve snorts. His blue eyes focus on the pot in front of him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“They say chicken noodle soup cures everything.” Steve muses, leaning his head back on Bucky’s shoulder. “Guess it kinda cured us, didn’t it?” 

Steve kisses him softly, turning his head to capture his lips. It was an awkward position to be kissing, over his shoulder and pressed close from behind, but it felt so entirely perfect. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck. I love you.” Steve smiles, his words filling Bucky with a warmth he never expected.

“Happy V-Day Stevie. Love you too, punk.” Bucky kisses his shoulder, breathing out and smiling against his gray shirt.

There were so many things that kept them apart over the years. Fear, ignorance, H.Y.D.R.A., himself. Steve was right though, he was there now. He was holding Steve once again, with the smell of boiling soup and Steve’s soap in his nose. 

Maybe all they needed was a little encouragement, and some chicken noodle soup.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you liked this fic, why not follow my loser self on tumblr? @sirsteviebarnes


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